Rebellion
by Chelsy
Summary: What if Voldemort had a daughter? A look into the lives of her, Hermione, Draco, and everyone else.
1. Meetings and a Confession

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Miss Rowling's characters. They belong to her. I just want to borrow them for while.  
  
Fresh parchment greeted her nose. Hermione strode into Flourish and Blotts, a list of books in her hand. She had taken a few steps into the store when a familiar voice drifted passed her ear.  
  
"Miss Granger, what a surprise."  
  
Minerva McGonagall sashayed up to Hermione. Wearing dark green velvet robes, she looked like she always did.  
  
"Enjoying your holiday, Miss Granger? I see that's a book list in your hand. Is that the list for Stonehenge?"  
  
"Yes Professor. I'm looking forward to continuing my studies there."  
  
"Well, it is a rather good school. See you back at school, Miss Granger."  
  
"Nice to see you, Professor."  
  
With that, McGonagall walked past Hermione and out into the crowded street. Hermione turned back to face the store and sighed. She missed Hogwarts. She had gone to visit her parents over the Easter holiday. She had made a trip to London, needing to go shopping. She yearned to be back with everyone inside the huge castle she called home.  
  
Hermione strolled between bookcases, glancing at the covers of books. She thought about the upcoming exams and graduation. Her stomach churned at the thought. She wasn't worried about exams. Well, now that she thought about it, the idea vexed her slightly. She had been looking forward to graduating at the head of her class since the beginning of her first year. Draco Malfoy was so very close behind her. Just the past week before she had left, she had heard him muttering in the hallways.  
  
"Stupid bitch. Why can't she just flunk one exam, or even one assignment? I would be able to pull ahead of her."  
  
She had giggled, and then slapped her hand over her face, hoping he would not hear. He swirled around to face her.  
  
"Laughing, Granger?"  
  
He had pushed her up against the wall, his hands resting on her hips. She had looked into his eyes, and something flickered. It was such a small change in his eyes, Hermione would later question if she had really seen something.  
  
"Why aren't you off screwing Potter, or a Weasley," he had mocked, his drawl ringing in her ears.  
  
She had turned pink, much to her disgrace. So the rumor had gotten around fast. She had hoped Pansy wouldn't have spread it. Malfoy had pushed her up against the wall again, and turned quickly, walking off followed by Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
Hermione sighed yet again, thinking back on the strange encounter. Glancing at her list, she hurriedly grabbed the books she needed. Such strange books, she thought to herself as she made her way to the back of the store. Turning around a bookshelf, she knocked into someone, bounced off of the person, and landed on the floor.  
  
"Aagh. Damn. Why don't you watch where you are going.. Granger?"  
  
Hermione looked up to see Draco Malfoy towering above her. She picked herself up off the dusty floorboards and brushed the dirt off. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she raised her eyes and met Draco's.  
  
"What in the world are you doing here? You can't certainly need more books to read, with your time occupied by, let's say, romantic flings," he ridiculed.  
  
Hermione didn't answer as she reached down to pick up her spilled books. Grabbing two of the ground, she looked at their titles. Medical Ailments and How to Cure Them gleamed off both books in gold lettering.  
  
"What the hell." Malfoy started but abruptly stopped.  
  
He looked at both books, glanced up to Hermione's face, and stared at the books on the floor. Books were strewn everywhere, but there was no mistake. Copies of the same books were lying about.  
  
"What are you buying those for, Granger," Malfoy inquired, quite stupidly.  
  
He peered intently into her brown eyes. A thought flickered in the back of his head. She is really rather pretty. I wonder if that rumor is true. He flinched, reminding himself of who he was, of who she was. He scowled as he heard her talk.  
  
"I was offered a scholarship to Stonehenge to continue studying after I graduate."  
  
"Hell. I thought I was going to get rid of your little posse after I graduate. Is everyone going, or will it just be you?"  
  
Grey eyes gleamed at Hermione. A hint of disappointment and bitterness shone in them, but there was something else. It was the same thing that shined in his eyes at their encounter in the hall. It made Hermione look away, slightly taken back.  
  
Unnerved, she finished picking up her books. Smoothing her brown ringlets, she straightened herself up.  
  
"Well, I look forward to seeing you there," she said stiffly.  
  
Draco snorted.  
  
"Sure, Granger. You are really looking forward to it. Just like your nights spent in Weasley's bed."  
  
Hermione turned red, and her eyes flashed in anger.  
  
"That's just some stupid rumor Pansy started. There is no truth in that. None."  
  
He laughed, his cold mirthless laughter filling her ears. He picked up his books and turned away from her.  
  
"See you at school, Granger," he called as he slithered away.  
  
Hermione glared at him, watching him cross the room to a woman. She was tall and slender, with long blonde hair flowing down her back. She greeted Draco with loving brown eyes. So this was Narcissa, Draco's mother. She had heard Harry and Ron talk about her. Narcissa was quite elegant, Hermione noticed, even standing in a bookstore.  
  
Hermione turned and walked to the end of the line to check out. She sighed heavily. Standing alone, she felt detached from all the people bustling through the bookstore. This was a fairly new feeling. She didn't often feel on the outside of things. But sometimes, when the lights were out, the ceiling dark, and the scarlett curtains around her bed were closed, she would lie in bed, wishing for someone to reach out to her. She wanted someone to sweep her off her feet, romantically speaking. She had dated Viktor, but had broken it off during the summer. He seemed obsessed with her, but she hadn't felt the sparks. Now, with that rumor spreading, the whole school probably thought she was screwing around with Ron. Stupid Pansy, she though, the girl had no idea what was going on.  
  
"Would you like to pay for those books?"  
  
The elderly man gazed at Hermione and the books still clutched in her hands.  
  
"Oh, sorry."  
  
Hermione shoved the books out of her arms and onto the counter. As the man tallied the sum, Hermione glanced around the store. Displays were set up everywhere, and people walked in and out of the rows of books. Draco and Narcissa were at the back of the line. Narcissa was speaking softly to Draco, who was rolling his eyes at what his mother said.  
  
"Here you go, miss."  
  
The elderly man grinned a wide grin at her, but as Hermione walked away, she heard him mutter something about love-struck teenagers these days. Rolling her eyes, she pushed out of the shop into the bright sunlight. Squinting, Hermione glanced around for her father, hoping he stayed out of trouble.  
  
"Ready for the train, dear?"  
  
A man in muggle clothes strolled up to Hermione. Smiling, shallow wrinkles formed around his huge, brown eyes.  
  
"Yes, Father. Back to school."  
  
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At the same time..  
  
Grey clouds covered the bright sun. Rays penetrating the clouds cast few shadows. Fog swirled around old, gnarled, creaking trees, although it was nearly midday. A crumbling house loomed in the distance like a giant cat waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. At the crest of a hill, a hooded figure sat, its back supported by a headstone. A tree cast a shadow over the person. Mist swirled around it and the tombstones that dotted the dreary landscape.  
  
The figure's head was bowed, but its eyes were raised up to the sky. The low light gleamed off red eyes. The figure stood, pushing its hood back. A young woman was revealed, aged to around twenty-two. She small in stature, being rather short, but was slightly pudgy. She had long auburn hair that was hung down her back. She was pale, pale as if she had spent her time walking paths where sunlight did not reach.  
  
Red eyes were the dominating feature of her face. They burned like smoldering coals. There was a lust deep inside of them. The lust ran deep in her heart. In between her eyes rested a long, slender nose, set off by high cheekbones on either side. Her skin was almost translucent. It was stretched tightly across the slender bones in her face. It was a striking face that demanded attention and respect. Her eyes darted around, taking in the trees, headstones, and every other detail of her surroundings. She spotted something moving slowly towards her. The cloaked figure moved with an arrogant grace. It stopped abruptly a few yards away from her.  
  
"Shaara," the figure spoke.  
  
The voice came from beneath the hood, slithering to the girl's ears. The voice was cold, but there was an underlying compassion the girl barely picked up. A hand pushed the voluminous hood back, revealing a narrow face and sallow skin. The nostrils were slits in the middle of the disturbing face. Red eyes were deeply set, but they burned with vengeance. The eyes rested on high, delicate cheekbones. The face had been famous, yet much feared a mere seventeen years ago.  
  
The thing was barely human, and there was a radiating darkness wrapped around it. He, for the human was clearly male, smiled at the girl, revealing white, pointed teeth.  
  
"How good to see you, my girl," he said.  
  
He walked slowly closer to the girl. He reached out with a slim, narrow hand and stroked the girl's cheek. It rested there, caressing the face.  
  
The two odd figures' eyes met, and they stood there, staring at each other. Something unnamable passed between the sets of red eyes. Finally, it was the man who lowered his eyes to the ground. The young woman inhaled, drawing herself up. The male raised his eyes, and spoke.  
  
"Shaara. My girl."  
  
"Hello Father."  
  
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Sunlight poked through the clear panes of the windows in the Gryffindor common room. Fires burned low in the grates of the many fireplaces. It was late in the morning, but the common room was abandoned. Two figures bounded down the stairs and collapsed into large armchairs arranged next to a window. One was dressed in khakis and a red sweater. Unruly black hair brushed the young man's eyes. He reached up to sweep his bangs aside. His hair revealed piercing green eyes. A scar, shaped like a lightning bold, was burned into the middle of his forehead. He smiled to his companion, then rubbed his sleep-swollen eyes.  
  
Red freckles splattered across the teen's companion's face. Red hair hung low around his ears, nearly brushing the collar of his worn, blue sweater. He sat sideways in his chair, his long legs dangling over the fluffy arm.  
  
"So Harry. Here we are, the last day of our Easter holiday, with nothing to look forward to until everyone arrives for dinner tonight," announced the lanky redhead.  
  
"Yeah. I guess," sighed Harry. "But I've got some business that needs settling. What is this scandal I heard Pansy whispering about at dinner before everyone left? I've resisted asking you the whole bloody week. All I heard was something that involved you, Hermione, and a couch in an abandoned classroom. Come on, Ron. Spill."  
  
"Oh. That. Well, this is what really happened. I couldn't sleep the night before the holiday started. I came in here and stretched out on a couch. I had just drifted off when Hermione came stamping through, muttering something about obnoxious roommates. So I sat up and asked her what the damn problem was. She jumped almost out of her damn skin. When she saw it was just me, she laughed. She said Lavender was "annoying me to death talking about Harry this, Harry that, and Harry is sooooo hot." Ron grinned mischievously. Harry turned pink and rolled his eyes.  
  
"Anyways, I suggested that we go somewhere so we wouldn't wake the whole bloody house. We walked to that empty classroom next to Flitwick's. We bunkered down on the couch and chatted for a while. We fell asleep and awoke to Pansy shrieking something about sex. A whole bunch of nothing, if you ask me."  
  
"So nothing really happened? You didn't sneak away to have your weekly shag with our best friend," Harry asked, feigning a look of doubt.  
  
"How did you know," Ron asked, widening his eyes to the size of saucers.  
  
They looked at each other, barely holding in the laughter that wanted to break to the surface. The silence broke as peals of laughing filled the air. They giggle for a few minutes, Ron turning a shade of purple called eggplant. Harry grasped his sides as he tried to force some air into his lungs.  
  
"Oww. You should have seen your face. Your eyes were absolutely huge," Harry gasped, choking down a chuckle.  
  
"So. Now that that is settled, I am absolutely starving. Go grab your cloak and lets go get some food, seeing that we both slept through breakfast," Ron declared, rubbing his stomach.  
  
"Okay," said Harry as he galloped up the stairs, taking them two at a time.  
  
As his best friend's footsteps died on the floor, Ron sighed and rolled his eyes. Stupid Pansy. She always goes and blabs everything. Ah well. 'Tis over and done with. Ron smiled. He was so happy with life right now. School was great, his friends were great, almost everything was great.  
  
Harry reappeared at the top of his steps. Swirling the cape over his shoulders, he disappeared. Ron heard footsteps echo down the stairs, and Harry reappeared.  
  
"Lets go. I want some food," Harry whined.  
  
Ron walked toward him and disappeared underneath the cape.  
  
A/N: this is my first. Review, please!!! Someone once said that reviews are like chocolate; you don't need them. But it is nice to have.. Oh.. and there is one quote from Garth Nix's Sable. I collect little sayings, and I don't always know where they come from. Thanks for reading. 


	2. Recollections and Revelation

A cold hand turned the brass doorknob, clouding the tarnished metal. The heavy door was pushed into the house. A gloomy entry hall was revealed. Yellow wallpaper was peeling off the grimy walls. As she stepped into the house, the floorboards groaned and coughed up dust.  
  
Shaara looked around, studying the ancient walls. She had walked into this house many times, yet it never ceased to fascinate her. She knew every moan from the floor, every crack in the walls, and every step that creaked when you put weight on it. The high ceilings of the foyer echoed the steps she took into the house. This was her escape. Shaara relished the time she spent here with her father.  
  
Walking through the small room, she strode into the living room. She sighed, taking in the beloved setting. Shaara sauntered slowly over to the west wall of the den and gazed at the pictures hanging there. A toddler Tom Riddle waved at her while smiling in the arms of his parents. In the background, a calm ocean reflected the beautiful azure sky. She grinned back and continued to study the pictures. Shaara looked at these whenever she had a chance, looking upon the young face of her father. There was a large picture of him hanging in the center of the wall of pictures. The inscription on the frame read: Tom Riddle, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Seventh Year. Hard brown eyes gazed seriously at Shaara. Dark brown hair was swept sideways across the small forehead. She smiled at the photograph, but continued walking when it didn't smile back. Most of the scenes depicted were identical to the previous one set at the sea. Shaara gazed at the happy faces of her grandparents and sighed sadly. She loved studying the faces carefully. She would sometimes imagine what they would be like if they were still alive.  
  
"Such old pictures, daughter. How young I was. Until Hogwarts, I was so foolish, so malleable."  
  
The voice of her father snapped Shaara out of her reverie. She slowly turned around to face him. He had shed his outer cloak and was dressed in a simple black robe. The red eyes, so much like hers, shone at Shaara with a type of love in them. She loved away, not wanting to hold his haunting gaze.  
  
She shrugged out her heavy wool coat and laid it on the back of a tattered olive green sofa.  
  
"So, Father, what is it? I was quite surprised to get an owl from you," Shaara inquired as she settled herself on the couch.  
  
"I have come up with another plan."  
  
"Another? Tell me, Father, that it is not as absurd as the last one was," she stated with an exasperated sigh.  
  
"No, my dear. This one is better. Much better."  
  
"And it is about...?"  
  
"Patience, my dear. You must learn to control that temper."  
  
"Father," Shaara interrupted, "please skip the speech on my character."  
  
"Whatever you ask, my dear. Now, you have surely heard of the Sectors?"  
  
"I have heard of them, though I know very little about them. The Four Founders carved them from stone. They are extremely old because they were shaped when Hogwarts first opened," Shaara stated as a page from one of her textbooks floated through her mind.  
  
"Is that all you know? Surely you have been taught better than that," Voldemort said, a frown lowering the corners of his thin lips.  
  
"That's all I know. There wasn't much mentioned of them at Durmstrang," she replied with a dismissive shrug.  
  
"Well. They were all destroyed, supposedly. The Founders were supposed to destroy them after they realized how dangerous they were. You see, each of the Founders poured each of their own characteristics and powers into their own sector. When all the sectors are united and the proper spells are cast, the caster receives all the powers of the Founders."  
  
Shaara's mouth dropped upon hearing those words. Her eyes flashed as she thought about the power. However, this power would most certainly go to her father. Unless, there was some way...  
  
"What do you think, my girl," Voldemort questioned as the corners of his lips turned up.  
  
Shaara found it very strange how her father expressed his emotions. She had never seen him fully smile or frown. He had never showed Shaara love.  
  
Yet Shaara wasn't sure she loved him. She was thankful he gave her life. The life he gave her was a concealed one. She never had a home when she was growing up. Voldemort simply handed her off at his servants' houses when he wasn't there. She brilliantly remembered the night of his downfall when she was five.  
  
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"Goodbye, my daughter. I shouldn't be long." Voldemort looked much healthier. His cheeks were a bit fuller, and he wasn't quite as gaunt. He pulled the heavy wooden door closed as he disappeared into the dark night.  
  
Shaara, a fiery five year old with the same flashing eyes as her father but with thick, long hair, turned around to face Mrs. Nell. She was the wife of a Mr. Bill Nell, a Death Eater who was very close to Voldemort.  
  
"A-a-are you hungry," Mrs. Nell asked, fiddling with the hem of her dress. She didn't look pleased or excited, as she was left with the task of looking after Lord Voldemort's daughter.  
  
"No. You look like I'm going to hex you. Are you afraid of me," Shaara asked, giggling.  
  
At the word "hex", Mrs. Nell whimpered slightly.  
  
"No need to be afraid. I can't do any proper magic yet. Daddy forbids it until I go to school," Shaara stated, rolling her eyes.  
  
A small amount of tension left Mrs. Nell's face. She smiled slightly at the brashness of the little girl standing before her.  
  
"Would you like to play with some dolls?"  
  
"No. Do you have any action figures? Those are my favorite," Shaara replied as she bounced up and down on her toes.  
  
"Uhhh...I think Bill has some. Let me check," Mrs. Nell said as she walked down the hall.  
  
For five hours, Shaara played quietly on the floor. At 3 a.m., her eyelids drooping, Shaara climbed on the couch and promptly fell asleep.  
  
She awoke to the pop of someone Apparating. It was Bill, ashen-faced and trembling. Mrs. Nell, who had been napping in the chair near Shaara, startled awake and jumped to her feet.  
  
"What's the matter, dear," she asked, rubbing her eyes and walking towards her husband.  
  
"Quick. We must leave. Gather only a few things. Move!"  
  
"What's wrong, Bill? Did something happen," Mrs. Nell inquired, slightly taken aback.  
  
"Yes. H-h-he is..." Shaara was fully awake, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.  
  
"Something went wrong, terribly wrong," Mr. Nell explained. "He killed the parents easily. The lady put up quite a fight though. As we went to kill the boy, something happened. He cast the cures, but it just bounced of the baby. It hit Him. He's gone, just disappeared. However, the Ministry knew this was coming. Since He's gone, they've started arresting his most loyal supporters. We must go. Now."  
  
Mrs. Nell's eyes widened with the news. When her husband had finished, she looked blankly at Shaara.  
  
"What about her?"  
  
Mr. Nell, who had been bustling around grabbing things, paused.  
  
"Hmm. Before we left, he said something to us. 'If I don't return, take my daughter to the Leaky Cauldron. If something happens, I have a friend there who will take care of her.' I guess we shall do that. After that, we'll fly to Greece. There are some cousins of mine there."  
  
The Nells were packed and ready to go in less than 5 minutes. Shaara was fully alert u then. She had digested all the information Bill had spilled. He was gone, at least for now. She knew he would come back. The child fleetingly thought about what was in her immediate future.  
  
Mr. Nell picked her up, hoisting her into his arms as they fled out the door. The heavy wood thudded against the frame of the door. Shaara looked up into the night with stars studded across the dark velvet. The spirited little child was alone now. The darkness enveloped her as they headed off.  
  
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"Shaara? I asked what you thought about the Sectors," the displeased voice slicing through her thoughts.  
  
"I never knew such things existed. The power must be immense..." her voice trailed off as her eyes unfocused.  
  
Voldemort's eyes flashed. 'That look,' he thought to himself. 'I've seen that look before. Where?'  
  
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